


Wave Makers and World Shakers

by rustingroses



Category: Star Trek AOS
Genre: BAMF Women, Gen, Multi, POV First Person, Women Being Awesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-24
Updated: 2015-05-07
Packaged: 2018-03-29 09:51:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3891847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rustingroses/pseuds/rustingroses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for <a class="i-ljuser-profile" href="http://where-no-woman.livejournal.com/profile"><img class="i-ljuser-userhead"/></a><a class="i-ljuser-username" href="http://where-no-woman.livejournal.com/"> where_no_woman</a>‘s First Anniversary Ficathon for the prompt: <i>Why Nyota Uhura chooses to wear the short skirt instead of the black pants we see on some other female officers. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

  
  


People are people, even when they are aliens.

It's true. No matter what planet you go to or what culture you try to immerse yourself in, there are always greedy bastards, kind idiots, misogynists, cruel assholes, racists, charmers and grandstanding fools.

You know.

People.

And they judge you by a million different standards- hair color, planet of origin, race, gender (or lack thereof), beauty, wealth, intelligence- and that's only off the top of my head. You can try to change, but it's true what they say: by trying to please everyone, you please no one, least of all yourself. Still, it's instinct to try to change a little, even if you change to go more against the grain, rather than less.

I've never been one to change, really, never been one to rock the boat. Sure, I'm intelligent and clever and strong, but I'm not exactly a wave-maker when it comes to the world at large. At least, I thought I wasn't, unless, of course, someone was _clearly_ wrong in their interpretation of a language, or using the wrong grammatical structure for a phrase. But I didn't count that as wave-making, world-shaking news. That was just me being a bossy bitch, like everyone said I was. The words hurt, but I tried not to think about them too much, because I preferred to believe it was because they were jealous that I wanted to be something more than what they were all striving for. I refused to let them stop me from what I wanted to do- go to Starfleet and learn every language I could get my hands on, in the hopes I would understand people.

So that they might understand me.

Still, like I said, I'm hardly a wave-maker, so it wasn't until I was asked a very simple question that I realized that I had a choice. I had an opportunity, here at Starfleet, to become the very thing I'd always believed I was not: someone who wanted to change the universe and would make it happen by her own will. Someone who would grow greater than her dreams only to find grander ones. Someone wise and gentle, that made people want to be better, that made them want to listen and learn, that made them want to change the universe too.

Such a simple question, asked in such a bland tone.

Yet it changed my entire world.

"Pants or skirt?"

~*~

Akila was a wise woman, even if she never officially held the title. Our town- our village, if we were going to be perfectly honest- might have all the trappings of a modern suburb town, with a school and stores and the very, very small doctor's office that had been created a mere three years ago, but they were still Swahili, and thus it was more village than town. Akila knew that, and became everyone's mother, sister, aunt, cousin, grandmother. She was theirs, because everyone knew she had the best advice, that she understood the way the world worked, and she had lived long past two husbands and three children, may Allah guide them.

Huruma was a doctor, the only one in the entire village, the only one in over fifty miles. She was nothing more than a dim memory to the youngest children, in the village, like me, for we had not been old enough to remember her before she'd left for nearly a decade to go to college and medical school in the United States of America. The adults and older kids, however, knew that she'd left- and returned- for their sake. The village wasn't poor enough, like it was in the past, for a doctor not to exist at all, with the only medical aid that of rustic healers, but it seemed something of a miracle to the older men and women: they now had steady help for coughs and fevers and broken bones. And on top of that, because she was the only doctor in the area, Huruma had others coming to her. The village practically glowed with pride as others came to live nearby, the promise of aid for ailing children an incentive that could not be matched.

Marjani and Safiya were teachers. Like Huruma, they'd gone to college, but they had been two and a half hours away at University of Nairobi, instead of traveling halfway across the world to get their degree. In a way though, their job was harder than that of Huruma, because they had to convince the children of the village, male and female alike, to be interested in the world beyond just what their tiny village and its people had to offer. Unlike me, most of the people just weren't that interested. They were happy to live here, with the people they'd know their entire life. Marjani and Safiya had to work hard, but they had a charisma that made the University of Nairobi and the outside world seem like something magnificent.

And they weren't the only women who had worked hard to become great. There was Damisi, who with her husband Erevu owned the best restaurant in the village, there was Farashuu, who was world famous for her jewelry designs and Gheche, one of the few Swahili historians that actually lived the culture on a day to day basis.

I can't say how amazing I thought they were. It was one thing to say that there was equality for men and women of all races and ages and origins. But these women, these women were _amazing_ to me, real-life examples that showed me that though it would be a hard fought battle to achieve what you wanted, it was still possible. And I, the second youngest of six daughters took heart that I wouldn't always be stuck here in Kenya if I didn't want to be. I had options beyond just marrying and raising children, a stigma that to this day women still had to overcome in most of Africa and Asia, for all Earth liked to claim that it had changed, that it was moving forward and promoting equality. They'd been saying the same things for the last couple of centuries, since all the way back when Martin Luther King first spoke of a dream. It was better, of course, virtually worlds away from life as it had been back then, but things were hardly perfect. We are, after all, only human.

And then there was my mama.

She was my mama, so I loved her, but she didn't make it easy, or so I thought when I was younger. I know that your parents are supposed to be your heroes, but my mama was boring and plain and ordinary. I was ashamed of her, in that small, petty way that children have. She'd gotten a degree in English, Chinese and Russian in the University of Nairobi on top of already being fluent in French and Italian. That was where she met my papa, and fell in love with him. After falling in love and later marrying him, however, she hadn't done anything with the five years she'd spent at University, working to learn those languages. I heard my grandmamma, my mama's mother, tell her that all the time she was wasting that time she'd spent learning on paying lip service to a man. I didn't understand what all the words meant, but the tone had been clear enough. Somehow, I'd always thought that she'd studied so she could see the world, to travel and find new and exciting things, but she simply moved from her village to this one, where my papa was headman. Of course, he was also a lawyer that looked over contracts for the government, but we mostly just thought of him as papa, making sure that everyone had what they needed to survive. It was easy to be proud that he was our papa, especially when he was raising money for textbooks for the school or being called by the Kenyan President to look over contracts.

Our mama, on the other hand, liked to refer to herself as a homebody. I thought that was being kind. Calling it being a homebody was just a glorified way of calling her a stay-at-home mother, who did little but watch after her children, do chores, and work on her PADD. Yet that was exactly what she was- my mama had married my papa, and that had been the end of it. She'd had six daughter in ten years, and she seemed perfectly pleased with being the woman that my papa came home to. From how many siblings I had, my papa was also perfectly pleased that she was the one he was coming home to.

Then, when I was about seven, we went to Nairobi for a few days during the summer. My mama called it a vacation anyway, for all that papa would be stuck in meetings for most of the week going over some last minute details for something or other- I hadn't been paying that much attention, having stopped listening around the time my papa announced that we'd be spending the week in the city. Trips to the city were rare enough, since my mama couldn't watch all six of us at once and papa worked during the week, though he mostly worked from his office in the village and did everything through his PADD, and only occasionally traveled into the city to sign documents. We would even be staying in a hotel, for all we lived about two hours away from the city.

To this day, I look upon that time as more or less idealized; we went shopping, we went to a musical, we went to the museums and the restaurants and explored all the nooks and crannies of the city- the safer parts, at any rate. The weather was hot, but not particularly humid for most of the trip, and I spent my evenings on the balcony of our room, looking out into the bustle that was Nairobi and its nearly three million residents, glorying in the sun on my skin. It was like nothing I'd ever really experienced before. It was my first time using public transportation, the first time I'd seen a play, the first time I'd seen a building so large that I felt like a tiny speck beside it.

The only thing I hated about it was the fact that I couldn't see the stars.

Even so, not being able to see the stars seemed like a comparatively insignificant worry, compared to the grandeur I was being exposed to. It was the first time I'd ever seen so many people in one place, the first time I heard a thousand different people using a thousand different languages not only from Earth, but also from alien planets, from stars so far away that I literally couldn't see them. Like me, all but my eldest sisters were entranced by what we saw, what we did, and even then Hadhi and Furaha were probably more impressed than they'd like to admit.

I will never forget the hours I spent one afternoon in the Museum of Natural History, looking at all the bones from animals and evolutionary ancestors of humans that were hundreds of thousands of years dead and gone. I remember reaching out my tiny hand and feeling overwhelmed by the different in size, in strength, in presence of those long dead but unforgotten creatures, and thinking to myself, _I want to be like that_. _I want people to learn from what I did, what I was, even after I die. I want people to look at me and remember how I changed the world._

"Nyota, darling, we have to go!" Mama called to me for probably the third or fourth time, if the ire in her tone was anything to go by. She had all my sisters clustered around her, and her hands were on her hips, skirts swishing around. "It's starting to look pretty bad out, and I'd like to get back before the rain starts!"

That caught my attention, even if nothing else did. I hated storms, and would do anything to avoid being caught near thunder and lightning. I'd seen what a lightning strike could do to a human body when Jozi had gotten struck by lightning two years back and I still had nightmares about being caught out in the rain and dying the same way. I was at my mama's side in an instant, clinging to her skirts and shadowing her every movement on the way back to the hotel. I caught my sister's laughs as I kept one hand clenched in the fabric, but I just hid my blushing face in my mama's skirts, preferring the comparative safety even in the face of their mockery. My mama shushed them, and placed a hand on my head, and the warmth of her hand made me smile even with the rain just starting to fall and lightning leaping low across the clouds. She hurried us into the hotel just as the storm really let loose with all sorts of rain and thunder and lightning filling the sky with noise and pressure. My chin wobbled, and at the first thunderclap that rang in the lobby I nearly started crying, fists clenching in my mama's skirts.

"Up we go!" Mama said cheerfully, herding us towards the elevators so that we could return to our room. "Mayhaps it will be best if we just order in tonight, instead of going out into this mess, eh, my darlings?" We were all her darlings, the collective mass of her six daughters, and each of us had our own response to her pet name for us. Hadhi rolled her eyes, propping one hand on her hip. Furaha snorted, then glanced up at the ceiling as if asking Allah for patience. Amina twirled in place, grinning a little. Ishi frowned a little, pursing her lips irritably. I winked at my mama, and she winked back, our private little exchange that was just between us, and I felt a thrill go through me. Juwyriya was too young to understand it, really, since she was only five, but she chuckled and clapped her hands.

We settled into our rooms again, taking shower to wash away the days heat and the humidity that had stuck to our skins before the storm. Papa came in while I was still getting dressed, and by the time I'd entered the main room again everyone else was already seated and perusing menu lists. As Mama had suggested, we would eat in that night, and now the only worry was what we would choose. None of us were interested in going out in the rain and getting soaked; we'd be in competition with every other man, woman, child and alien for a taxi in this weather. It simply wasn't worth it, and there was something nice about having a private meal even amongst the bustle of the Nairobi.

I climbed in my Papa's lap, demanding to see what everyone was considering. Choices were brought up for vote and either agreed upon or dismissed, as we whittled our choices down; we settled on Chinese, and spent the evening talking over the meal before watching an few old films that we all enjoyed, and it wasn't until our second movie, _Up_ , that I started to fall asleep on my feet.

Mama and Papa herded the youngest children off to our beds, and I complied, ready to sleep now that the storm had slowed. The tension leaked out of my frame, and that release made me feel surprisingly tired. We hadn't heard any thunder or seen lightning in nearly half an hour, and even the rain was beginning to slow, the staccato beat pounding a little less harshly on the windows. I agreed to let myself be tucked in without protest, eyes fluttering closed as Mama and Papa kissed my forehead.

I opened my eyes to thunder and lightning once more, bellowing as though it planned to fill my very bones with its presence. I shot out of bed, heart pounding, lungs heaving, shuddering sobs wracking my body. Almost before I was capable of conscious thought, I was sprinting out of the room I was sharing with Ishi and Juwyriya, muffling my cries of fear with my hand as I raced to my parents' room, needing the warmth of their bodies, their confident reassurances before I could even dream of returning to slumber.

As I came out into the main room, I stopped suddenly, blinking and attempting to see in the sudden exposure to the bright lights that were still on. When my vision cleared, Mama was already up off the couch and coming over to me, skirts swishing silently over the floor. She lifted me up and I clung to her, letting the softness of her skin and clothing wipe away my tears and ease my panic. She rocked me in her arms, swaying back and forth and rubbing my back until I was once again calm.

"The storm?" she asked sympathetically, sitting me on the couch before leaving and going into the bathroom. I jumped as another peal of thunder echoed throughout the room, but Mama said nothing as she left the bathroom with a damp towel that she proceeded to use to wipe my face, soothing the puffy skin under my eyes. I leaned into the touch, grateful for her silence and her compassion. "Darling, shall I tuck you in again?"

I shook my head, fisting one hand in the bottom of her shirt, heart in my throat at the implication that she would leave me to the storm. She laughed gently, prying open my fist with a small smile playing on her lips. "Very well, my beloved, you may stay out here for now."

I let out a little sigh, relaxing. "Can I have a story?" I asked, hating the way my voice sounded so thin in comparison to my mama's beautiful contralto.

"Hmmm..." my mama debated. I belatedly realized that she might have been doing something before I came out, crying like a baby, and immediately wished I hadn't said anything. Her hand brushed over my head, tousling my dark locks for a moment. "Let me finish what I'm doing. It shouldn't take more than five or ten minutes, and then I can tell you a story."

Mama always told the best stories, for any occasion, whether traditional Swahili stories or fairy tales or just ideas she'd come up with on the spot. "Come here," she said, seating herself and placing a pillow against her thigh. She patted it, and I stretched out on the couch, resting my head against her lap. She ran her hand through my hair, brushing it away from my face, and picked up her PADD once more, scrolling through whatever was on the screen.

I tried to keep silent, I really did, but I wanted to hear a story and I wanted the ten minutes to pass quickly. "What are you doing, Mama?" I asked, wriggling a little in order to get more comfortable. Mama's hand never slowed from where it was slowly running through my hair, and I found myself closing my eyes against my volition. When she didn't answer, I said in a louder voice, "Mama?"

"Hm? Oh, sorry darling. What did you need?"

"What are you doing?"

Mama set down the PADD, hand stilling in my hair. "Just working through some documents that your father wanted me to see. They're the contracts that the Hasboro company will be signing tomorrow. They're in English, and Papa just wants me to check that they say exactly what they're supposed to say."

I sat up at that, blinking at my mama in confusion. She glanced over at me, raising one eyebrow. "Yes, Nyota? Is there something you need?"

"But Papa says his work is private! He says that we're not supposed to go onto his computer, because the files are top secret!"

Mama laughed, low and rich and sweet. "Oh, darling, Nyota, didn't you know? I work as a consultant, reading over files in foreign languages to check for mistakes in the translation. You didn't think I spent so much time on my PADD because I had nothing better to do, did you?" At my blush, she just cupped my burning face in one hand and kissed my forehead again. "Nyota, I go over various translations of books, articles, and contracts as an independent contractor, so that I can stay at home with you girls. If I spent five years at college, I'm going to use those skills for something, my beloved, but I'm not going to sacrifice being with you for anything. I love you too much, Nyota."

I blinked at my mama, wondering how I'd missed it before. She really was a homebody; she didn't want to leave me and my sisters to someone else's care, didn't want to let anyone else raise us; we were hers to nurture in the hopes that we would blossom under her care and change the world even in the smallest of ways. She wouldn't dream of letting another soul call us darlings, for we were her beloved children- and husband- for whom she had sacrificed so much. Instead, she took what jobs she wanted, used her skill at languages to help the world in whatever way she could, and then still finished with time enough to cook dinner.

I didn't realize what a revelation it was at the time, didn't realize how monumental, how incredible this fact was. I was just a seven year old girl who wanted her mother's comfort during a storm, and a story to send her back to sleep. I nodded at her explanation as if I really understood what it was that she did, and then put my head back down in her lap and snuggled up to her, closing my eyes as her hand started running through my hair once more.

My mama was not a wise woman, nor was she a doctor. She was not a teacher, and she did not own a restaurant. She was hardly world famous for her ability to design jewelry either. She made no effort to be these things, to step into someone else's shoes. She was a homebody who loved her children and husband enough that she only worked when she chose to. And it was a freedom in itself, a freedom to make her own decisions, and the choices that she'd made were not shameful as I'd once thought as that small child.

I found it was easy to love her.


	2. Chapter 2

When I was ten, we were told to do a presentation on a famous figure, past or present. I look back now and realize that every child has probably done something similar in the past: pick a person famous- or infamous- for their deeds, and present your findings about his or her life, but at the time it seemed as though it would be a daunting task.

The boys in the class were all clamoring to do George Kirk, the hero from the Kelvin disaster just over a decade before, while all the girls talks about doing famous artists and singers and writers. I found myself shying away from speaking to either group. I was a girl who wanted nothing more than to talk about the man who'd been glorified by Starfleet for dying for his wife and newborn child, as well as for the rest of his crew. Something in sensed that there was something greater to the story, some subtlety that wasn't being expressed. However, the boys had an unspoken claim on all things Starfleet, as though simply by being male they deserved to have a complete monopoly. Except for me, however, none of the other girls in the class were interested in something so crass as Starfleet, and I was left between the two factions, awkward and silent while everyone else in the class chattered excitedly about who they would present on.

My silence must have been noticed, however, for as we were all herded out the doors for recess, Miss Ajia asked for me to stay behind. Safiya Ajia may have been my aunt's oldest daughter, but she was also my teacher, so I had to call her by her last name, even if it drew just one more line of favoritism between us, because we were both from the Uhura family.

"Nyota's in trouble!" Feruzi squealed as he headed out the door, and the rest of the children burst into raucous laughter even as Miss Ajia shushed them, attempting to spare my feelings.

"She's the teacher's pet, she can't be in trouble, Feruzi," Ghipe retorted with a roll of her eyes. "I'm sure she's getting another award or something. Besides, I bet she's too _good_ to play with the rest of us!"

I blushed indignantly, attempting to control the heat in my cheeks and the way my eyes filled alarmingly, hunching in on myself and wishing I had the courage to defend myself. Ghipe was still bitter over the award I'd won in French class several weeks ago for my ability to hold a five minute conversation in French without a problem. I opened my mouth. This was it, this was the time that I would finally defend myself against my classmates without sounding like a fool. I hated the fact that I was the outcast, that I was the strange child because I was good with languages and because I was interested in learning. I was the teacher's pet, the bookworm, the freak. I had no friends amongst my classmates. All the friends that I _did_ have were t least two years older than me, and even then there weren't that many.

I was there, poised on the edge of attempting to speak when Miss Ajia stepped forward, hands on her hips and face creased in a frown. "Ghipe, Feruzi, you will apologize to Nyota _now_. Your words were downright rude, and I will not have such behavior take place in front of me. Am I clear? If I hear of this happening again, I'm going to have to talk to your parents."

The sternness in her tone allowed for not even a syllable's worth of argument, and wisely, they didn't try. Feruzi and Ghipe looked at each other and then at their toes. They mumbled their apologies to both Miss Ajia and me, though they kept their faces to the floor, and I muttered something that sounded vaguely like I was thanking them for their faked apology. Miss Ajia's pursed her lips, clearly displeased with the whole affair and on the verge of asking them to repeat it louder and more clearly, but she caught my panicked glance. If she'd pressed the matter I'd never be able to live it down, and things were hard enough as it was, just getting through class each day without being teased to the point of breaking down and crying.

She relented with a soft little sigh, and sent everyone on their way, but I knew it was too late. Ghipe sent me a sour look over her shoulder, and Feruzi patted her on the arm, a touch of solidarity and comfort. I swallowed, blinking back yet more tears and wishing I could find some way to communicate to them that I wasn't a freak, or a bookworm or a teacher's pet. I was just me, Nyota Uhura, even if I didn't fit in the same way that my sisters or parents did.

"Nyota? Are you alright?" Miss Ajia asked, looking concerned as she bent down a little to see me face a little more clearly. She peered at me, as though cataloguing my reactions for future reference.

I knew suddenly that if she asked that again, I was going to burst into tears right then and there like a little child, so I put on my brightest smile for her, and looked up at her. "I'm fine. I promise. What did you want, Miss Ajia?"

She didn't look like she believed my act for an instant, but I didn't need her to believe me. I just needed her to leave well enough alone for once, so that we could get to whatever it was that she wanted to talk to me about so I could get out to recess. I might not play with the other kids very often, but there were plenty of things that even a solitary person could do outside without getting too bored. If I was outside, out from under my cousin's eye, I would have time to think, to stem the tears that were threatening at every moment to overflow and embarrass me beyond all reckoning.

"Take a seat," she finally said, and I breathed out a sigh of relief, as silent as I was able to manage. I sat on one of the rickety old chairs that had seen better days about fifteen years ago. She leaned on the desk next to mine, looking thoughtful. "I noticed that when we were talking about picking a historical figure today, you didn't say very much. Do you need some ideas?"

I wish Miss Ajia had been a little less worried about my education and a little more worried about how it would look to the rest of the class, but what was done was done, so I managed to summon up the will to shake my head briefly. "No, I think I'm okay," I told her, even though I really wasn't. I didn't dare dream of selecting George Kirk, not when all the boys would tease me about it, and Ghipe had already staked a claim on Yo-Yo Ma that dared the rest of us to challenge her. If I couldn't do either of them, I considered doing a singer like Elvis Presley or Glaati, or one of the Federation's founding members, but none of them drew my true interest, and anyways, _everyone_ did projects on them. I wanted to do my project on someone special, someone interesting that a million people hadn't spoken about anyways.

"Oh? Who were you thinking of doing?" Miss Ajia asked, clearly cottoning on to the fact that I had no idea who I should present on.

I stammered for nearly fifteen seconds before Miss Ajia took pity on me, and a flush burned in my cheeks once more. "If you're not sure, it's okay to just say that, Nyota. I won't hold it against you. And I'm here to help- I can help you think of a few people that you might like to do a project on."

"Sure..." I agreed weakly, half-hearted smiled appearing and then disappearing on my face as quick as a flash of lightning. I didn't want to hurt her feelings, because she was a nice teacher, but I _really_ didn't want to be there for any longer than absolutely necessary.

Miss Ajia took that as an assent and brightened visibly. I tried not to look to annoyed or disinterested. "Great! Well, what are you interested in? From the other people you seemed to be interested in, you like music and Starfleet a lot. Anything else?" When I stayed silent, glancing out the windows to where everyone else was outside and playing, wishing nothing more than to be outside with them, she said in her most persuasive tone, "You like languages, don't you?"

That took me by surprise. I hadn't really thought of it that way, as liking it or disliking it in a particular way. I wasn't particularly fond of science, for example, but considering we were doing a unit on geology, I may have been influenced by that fact. I wasn't fond of geography either, for that matter. Now that she'd mentioned it, however, it seemed obvious that language was the class that I looked forward to the most each day. Though I spoke Swahili at home, and school was taught in Federation Standard, which had been derived from the languages of the founding members of the Federation, I also took French and English. English was close enough to Federation Standard these days as to be nearly indistinguishable, but French was still a language all on its own. I liked them all. I liked the way the syllables of Swahili, French, Federation Standard and English would roll off my tongue with equal ease. I liked that for a given tense there was a certain structure and way the pieces fit together. Mostly, though, I liked knowing that I could go to dozens of places on Earth and be understood clearly, though I wasn't originally from there, and I liked that they could understand me.

"Nyota?" my teacher prompted. "You do like languages, don't you?"

I nodded a little. "Mmmhmm," I agreed, looking at my toes. "It's interesting," I explained, unsure of what else to say. For all I could speak in different languages, I didn't yet have the words to express what I wanted her to understand.

Miss Ajia looked relieved. She looked to be deep in thought for several long moments before she declared, "I think I know a couple of people you might be interested in. I'll forward them to your PADD and you can take a look at them tonight, since there are signups tomorrow, alright?"

I agreed, more to get out of the room than anything else, and Miss Ajia sent me on my way.

Later that night, after I'd returned home and completed all my other homework, I took a look at the message Miss Ajia had sent to my PADD. She's sent me a list of about ten names. I didn't recognize any of the names, not even vaguely. "Mama?" I called uncertainly, thundering down the steps out of my room and into our small kitchen. "Do you know any of these names?"

Mama took the PADD with the list of names out of my hand and propped her other hand on her hip, spatula still grasped tightly as she considered the message. She tilted her head, frowning a little. "Well, they're all linguists, I can tell you that. Famous linguists. Or rather, linguists who are famous in linguist circles, which means the general public have probably never heard of them." She handed the PADD back to me. "What's the list for?"

"We're doing a project on a famous person, and she just sent me some ideas because I wasn't sure who to do. Since I like French, she thought I might like to do a project on one of these people."

I expected my mama to give me some advice about who I should present on, but she just smiled slowly, her entire face glowing with pride. "French, Nyota? You showed me that award you got, but I hadn't realized you liked it that much! Well, I have to admit that I'm glad one of my daughters picked up my talent for languages," she continued eagerly, smile brightening even further. Her approval made a little frisson of warmth fill my body. "If you'd like, I can lend you a couple of old paper books I've still got. _Le Petit Prince_ was always one of my favorites, and I think you'd like it as well. A children's book that's not really a children's book."

She winked, a conspiratorial air making her whispered words seem like a secret just between the pair of us. "We need more people working to bridge the gaps out there, to help people understand each other. There are enough issues with race and sex and religion without adding language to the mix, for goodness sake," she straightened, and continued, "Now put away your PADD for now, darling, and get washed up for dinner. Your father should be home in about fifteen minutes, and it's your turn to set the table."

Though she had returned to her cooking, I wasn't quite ready to leave. "Who do you think I should do, Mama?" I complained half-heartedly, lingering at the doorway into the kitchen. Though her endorsement had made me feel a lot better about doing the project on a linguist in the first place, I still didn't know a single name on the list beyond the fact that they were an expert in languages to one degree or another.

Mama turned from her cooking once more. "May I see the list again?" she asked, and perused it even as she continued to flip the chicken on the pan and added a little more salt to the sauce. "I think the most interesting on this list is Hoshi Sato," my mama finally declared, handing the PADD back to me. "She's retired now, and on Tarsus IV, but she's been working with Amanda Grayson, the one that's married to the Vulcan Ambassador, on fine-tuning the linguacode and universal translator that Sato developed to make it better for when the Federation encounters new races." She tapped the PADD a few times, and brought up a picture of a striking Asian woman, beautiful despite her age, wearing a loose shirt and skirt. My mama held the PADD out to me and then hummed a little, tasting dinner. "Perfect."

Perhaps it should have occurred to me to wonder how she knew all that, but I just nodded, saying that I would present on Hoshi Sato and took my PADD back upstairs before washing my hands and getting the table set for dinner.

When I told Miss Ajia my selection the following day, I knew I was blushing furiously as the class broke into whispers, mostly centering around asking, "Who's _that_?" in a tone of sarcastic wonder, snide because they had chosen _truly_ famous people, whereas I had apparently settled for less.

I started my project that very night, eager beyond belief to prove everyone wrong, to prove that Hoshi Sato was as worthy as any of their choices.

I spent _hours_ making sure even the most minute details were expertly set up, designing my presentation down to the last second. I agonized over the color scheme, over what each slide should hold, over how to orchestrate my presentation for greatest impact. I still remember the moment I found the exact picture of Hoshi Sato to use—a picture taken at a talk she gave at Starfleet Academy, resplendent in her dress blues even with all of the uniformed men and women around her.

Mostly I just wanted everyone to be as in awe as I was. Somewhere along the way, it had stopped being about proving them wrong and was now about making them see the same things that I saw, the strong woman who hadn't let anyone control her, the woman who was so brilliant at understanding languages that she'd been brought back to Starfleet even after being kicked out before she'd been in the Academy for half a year. The woman who was a part of the Enterprise- the _original_ Enterprise- whose linguacode and work with the universal translator had been so instrumental in solidifying the role of United Earth, and then later had been critical in the forming of the Federation.

My research, simple as it was, made it abundantly clear that without the linguacode, the Federation would not have been able to accomplish nearly as much as it had. The linguacode _was_ the equivalent of the Rosetta Stone of ages past, it was the way to bridge cultures so different that neither had a frame of reference for the other.

It stole my breath away.

To make yourself understood like that, even without having a working knowledge of the language was astonishing, and it make something in me uncurl and want to be a part of that more than I could have possibly imagined. I wanted to be a part of that linguacode matrix, wanted to understand the languages it translated in ways I couldn't yet name, though I did understand enough to know that I desired it more than anything I'd ever experienced in my entire life.

When I finally gave the presentation, voice clear and head held high, the perfect, breathless silence that fell after my presentation was all the victory I could have ever desired.

Even after the presentation, Hoshi Sato had become my hero. I devoured what I could from every book on the linguistic sciences that she had written, and though much of it was beyond my ability to understand, I was smart enough to understand the overarching topics, and they were enough to sate my hunger, if only temporarily. I was driven in a way that I hadn't been before, and it showed in the way I applied myself to not only French, English, Swahili and Federation Standard, but also in the way I began working to teach myself Spanish and Andorian in my spare time. I found that languages came easily to me, that I somehow instinctually understood how the grammar fit together to make a cohesive whole, how to use syntax to express how I truly felt, if I so chose.

I saw languages as if they were in three dimensions, and if I tilted my head just right, they would snap into a shape that I could use to communicate to a people that were not my own.

I loved it.

And that was why it crushed me when I found out nearly a year to the day later, that Hoshi Sato had been one of four thousand people killed in the genocide on Tarsus IV. I made a pledge then, that what she had done would not be wasted. I would learn all I could about languages. My sisters and Papa treated it as a game, as a phase that would pass, but my mama would just shake her head at me and lend me whatever I wanted from her collected of books.

Somehow, my simple hero worship of Hoshi Sato had transmuted into a love for languages and all they entailed that was uncontainable, unrestrainable, and downright undeniable.

And I still craved more.


	3. Chapter 3

It was all over the feeds when it was discovered that Amanda Grayson, infamous for having married the Vulcan Ambassador to Earth and being the mother of the universe's first half-Vulcan, half-Human child, famous for her work as a professor of linguistics, was coming to Earth at long last for a series of talks about linguistics and intra-cultural relations. By the time it came to the general news feeds, of course, it was practically old news to me, since the linguistics community had gotten wind of it ages ago and had sent around excited messages for the better part of a month before the newscasters caught wind of what was happening. I, who probably paid far more attention to linguistic news feeds than was normal for a fifteen year old girl- or anyone, really, who was not a linguist- was ecstatic. Amanda was the type of person who wrote for the public, who wrote to make the world at large better understand the importance and dangers of things like the linguacode and universal translator. She wrote with an eye to the fact that her audience didn't necessarily have a strong, graduate level background in linguistics, which I appreciated, especially after some of the more dense passages of Hoshi Sato's work. In fact, I had a copy of every book and article she'd written since her thesis at New York University for linguistics.

The second I found out, I pestered my parents every moment I had to spare. I didn't care if it took me my birthday and holiday gifts for the next fifty years if it would get me into that conference. Her talk in the United States of Africa was to be practically in my backyard; she would be in Nairobi to give her speech.

It took several weeks of persuasion and insistence before my parents realized that I truly had my heart set on going to the conference, and that if I had to hitchhike in an axe murderer's hovercar to get there and sell my soul to the devil to get a ticket, I would do it twice over. Instead of allowing me to risk life and limb, they bought me the ticket, though I was strictly informed of what would and would not be happening. I would go into the city with my papa, who would drop me off in front of the building in which the conference was being held. I would vid him the moment I was inside and seated. My papa, who had business in the city that day anyways, would pick me up outside the conference hall the second it was over, and if I wasn't there ready and waiting to be picked up, there would be hell to pay. I tried arguing that I was fifteen and self-sufficient enough to take care of myself, as I am sure many fifteen year olds had argued before me, but it was to no avail, even though I viewed myself as being the epitome of responsibility.

Despite the strict limitations of what I would and would not be able to do, I walked around for days after with a goofy smile on my face, sighing at strange moments. "Who's the boy?" Ishi asked dryly at the dinner table.

"No boy," I argued, breaking out of my reverie. "I'm just so excited for that conference!"

"Only _you_ would get all hung up over a conference where the youngest people will still probably be twice your age, Nyota," Ishi complained, stabbing her tomato particularly viciously. I didn't rise to the bait, however, since I knew that Ishi had had yet another spat with her best friend; they seemed to be going through a stage where they bounced between best friends and worst enemies on a daily basis, for all they were seventeen and supposedly too old for that sort of ridiculous behavior.

I felt somewhat like a little kid waiting for their birthday and all of the excitement and joy that they know will happen on that day. I had the date marked on my calendar, and nothing thrilled me more than each morning at 8:00 on the dot, when my PADD would inform me that I had however many days left before Amanda Grayson's talk. By the time the evening before rolled around, I was barely able to sit in my seat at the dinner table without fidgeting.

I'd gone so far as to buy a new dress for the occasion, a blue and white flower patterned dress with a sweetheart neckline. The gold and pearl chain that I'd been given my previous birthday was my only adornment besides my purse and jacket. When I finally got there, I found that Ishi had generally been right- I was the youngest person there, though there were a few men and women that looked to be about twenty. I guessed they were probably in college or university, from the looks of things.

My seat was towards the back of the auditorium, but on the lower level; I was able to see the stage quite easily. The entire room was packed. On my left was married couple, or so I assumed considering that they had a band of silver set with sapphires on each of their ring fingers, while on my right was an enormous gentleman who kept sighing and checking his watch, enormously impatient. I ignored them both, leaning forward in my seat and drinking in the stage. The platform was about three and a half feet off the ground, if I had to guess, and it was an open area, without so much as curtains to decorate it. An old style podium complete with gilding gave the simplicity an added elegance. It only made me more excited, since it made the entire situation more real. Amanda was famous for her dislike of visual aids; she had been quoted more than once saying that language couldn't be seen- it could only be heard and tasted.

Even so, as I watched a screen was lowered behind the podium. It had been framed in wood and gilded to give it the same elegance as the podium. I frowned a little, realizing with a little spark of disappointment that Amanda was probably going to use some pictures at the very least. I shrugged it off, focusing instead on the fact that she might show some images of the latest universal translator that she'd been working on.

I started tapping my foot absently, checking my PADD for the time almost as much as the gentleman next to me. When I realized that I was up to checking it twice a minute, I forced myself to stick my PADD back in my purse and put it beneath my chair so as not to become excessively distracted by it. I tried to occupy myself instead with what she might talk about. The universal translator, I was sure, and probably the algorithm used to define it, but I also hoped that she would present at least some of her research on finding the grammatical structure of new languages. There were rumors that her research were about to become standard for Communications at the Academy, especially her work in decoding new languages.

When Amanda came out, I couldn't stop my mouth from dropping open. I'll be the first to admit that Amanda Grayson is as beautiful as she is graceful, but today she took the cake. For all her elegance, however, there was nothing forced about it. Everything was very simple and clean. Her hair had been pulled back into a braid which had then been wound round her head and pinned down with a hyacinth tucked behind her ear. She wore a beautiful lavender skirt that had been embroidered in an abstract pattern, with a lacy white top and a heather grey jacket that somehow added color to her cheeks instead of making her look pale.

And then she started to speak.

If I thought about it for a moment, I could probably recite every word she'd spoken back to you. What stuck with me the most wasn't her speech, fascinating as it was, but it was the way she spoke to her captive audience. She wore a little, secretive smile the entire time, and her warm voice invited you in, because you were the best friends in the whole wide world and she was only telling you this because she trusted you, and wasn't this all fascinating? And of course you were going to agree because it really _was_ fascinating, and you were so flattered to be such a trusted friend that you'd never do anything to betray or offend her.

I was one of the first to lead the standing ovation at the end of her speech. Everything she had said about the importance of communication, of how her work would make it increasingly easy to bridge the gap between disparate languages, of how universal translators could be used to help connect with a foreign culture simply made my awe of her grow. She was the type of person meant when they said 'charismatic personalities' and 'eloquent speakers', amongst other compliments.

All fairytales have to end somewhere, however, and though mine didn't involve a carriage turning back into a pumpkin, soon enough I was in the crush of people attempting to get out of the conference hall. I spent a good ten minutes attempting to wriggle my way through the crowd to no avail. I looked at my PADD; my papa would be waiting outside any second now, assuming that he wasn't already out there waiting for me to emerge. I tried to slip through for another minute, getting more anxious as I did. My papa was far too protective, and if I wasn't on time, I really would be grounded until I was thirty. I may have been one of my mama's darlings, but I was always and forever my papa's baby girl, and heaven help it should a boy lay so much as a finger on us. If I didn't get out there soon, he'd have half the country out looking for the kidnapper that had surely done something unspeakable to my body and then dumped me in a ditch somewhere.

I managed to get out of the crowd much more easily than I'd gotten in, and immediately started scoping for another way out of the building, hoping that if I could slip out a side door, I'd have an easier time getting to my papa. I found a set of stairs nearby that indicated that the bathrooms were on the lower level. I made my way downstairs, hoping I could find a door that would let me out the back without setting off a fire alarm of some sort. I looked around briefly, but there was nothing helpful.

I was headed back up the stairs with a frown, only to whirl around in surprise when someone shouted, "Hey! Who're you?"

I hadn't been expecting anyone, so when I turned I lost my balance, gracelessly tumbling down the steps to land in an aching heap. "Ugh..." I groaned, putting my hand to my temple as though that would magically make my bruising and headache disappear.

"My husband and I pay you to keep me safe, not to scare innocent young girls coming out of the bathroom!" another voice chimed in, thick with ire. "She was nowhere near the private room."

"She could have been planting a bomb!"

"Where, exactly?" came the challenge. There was a moment of spluttering on one end and a satisfied silence on the other. I blushed. My dress was many things, but loose-fitting wasn't one of them. My purse was barely big enough to hold my PADD, and like everyone else, I'd been scanned for explosives, amongst other things, before I'd been let into the auditorium.

My vision finally cleared, and a cheerful oval face that was just beginning to show wrinkles was in my view. I tried to scramble away, but in the process I had to sit up, and accidentally hit the Amanda Grayson in the nose with my forehead.

Her eyes began to water immediately and I gasped, panicked. "I'm so sorry, please, let me help-" Naturally she shifted to stand as I reached out, and I accidentally knocked her arm.

Laughing, Amanda stood and backed out of range until she could wipe at her eyes with her sleeve. "No harm, no foul," she reported. "See? Not even bleeding." She tapped her nose once for effect. "Let me give you a hand," she continued, reaching out on arm and holding it out for me.

"T-thank you," I stammered, accepting her help and standing. I slipped my purse back over my shoulder, grateful that nothing had spilled out. I brushed myself off and fixed my dress, making sure I was presentable before directing my attention back to the same woman I'd spent so long admiring. "Amanda Grayson, it's a pleasure to meet you," I managed to gasp, hoping I didn't sound as hopelessly awestruck as I felt. "I'm Nyota Uhura. I've read your books, ma'am and I just love them. You write so well, and I think that you're right, we have to work on giving students more hands on experience on active understanding of the language. Universal translators don't work because of damage or something so often that we simply can't rely solely on them." I shut my mouth quite firmly, attempting to stop myself from rambling any more. I knew I had to be giving a lobster competition at this point.

Amanda laughed again. "No ma'am, just Amanda." She gave me a smile, and then leaned forward, taking a closer look. "My goodness, they seem to be accepting students earlier and earlier these days. Or perhaps you're just a genius. Or perhaps I'm just starting to get old. My son's twenty nine. I suppose that does make me old. Hm. Let's pretend I didn't say any of that last bit, alright. I can still pretend I'm twenty five until the day I die, right? Nyota- what a pretty name, it means either 'star' or 'warrior' depending on the context, doesn't it? Which university do you attend?"

"Um, yes, it does," I said, startled that she knew Swahili enough to know the origin of my name. "And no university ma'- I mean, Amanda. I'm finishing up high school in a little over a year, but I'm not in a college yet."

Amanda raised a single eyebrow. "Fascinating. I'm rather surprised, I admit, that someone so young would bother to come to something like this."

"I like languages," I admitted shyly, looking at my toes. I could feel the blush rising again.

"Wonderful!" Amanda exclaimed almost before I'd finished speaking. "We always need more newcomers to the field. This is quite exciting, actually. How did you get involved in languages? How many can you speak? Are you here with anyone?"

I explained hesitantly about my school project for Hoshi Sato, which devolved briefly into Amanda cursing Kodos the Executioner quite soundly and in several languages, only three of which I actually knew. I spoke briefly about how I knew in at least a basic capacity Swahili, Standard, English, French, Italian, Vulcan and told her that I was working on teaching myself Cardassian.

"Si? Parlava questi lingue con una altra persona? O praticava senza le persone?"

"Con la mia mama, si, ma non spesso. Mia mama sapeva italiano, francese, russo, inglese, Vulcan ed anche Invadal."

"Chi e sua mama?"

"Amaya Uhura."

Amanda laughed again. "Very good- your mother's helped you get a very good accent. Nice thick rolling r's. The Italians appreciate a good r."

We continued to speak for a good ten minutes before I became aware that my PADD was buzzing insistently. I gasped in realization. I'd been so dazzled by Amanda- that she had complimented my accent, that she seemed genuinely interested it me!- that'd I'd forgotten my purpose in going downstairs in the first place. I made an inarticulate sound of distress. "I'm so sorry, but I've got to go. I promised my father that I'd meet him outside nearly twenty minutes ago. He must be frantic!" I scrambled through my purse, trying to get the PADD out.

Amanda was immediately contrite. "I'm so sorry! Please, let me come along- I'm as at fault as you are, surely, and I can reassure him that nothing happened." She overrode all of my protests to the contrary, taking my arm in hers and leading me to the doors so quickly and efficiently that I hardly realized that I'd been vetoed.

After reassuring my father and apologizing for her role in my being late, she drew him into a conversation with the ease of long practice, pulling his mind away from his anger and concern and into a lively conversation about the United Nations of Africa's politics. I chimed in whenever possible, eager for more of Amanda's brilliant smiles when she agreed. Another two hours passed cheerfully before my papa reluctantly pulled himself away, saying with clear reluctance, "We're probably going to be extremely late as it is. If we get the chance, we ought to talk more."

For my part, I couldn't help but be disappointed that we were parting ways. "It was a pleasure you meet you, truly, Nyota," Amanda enthused. "It's so rare that people really understand the importance of studying linguistics. I'd love to continue to hear from you, especially if you're headed to the Starfleet Academy. My son, Spock, is there at the moment. I'm sure the pair of you would get along like a house on fire- you're both so intelligent and matter of fact. It's quite nice after endless hours spent with diplomats." She smiled at me, and once again I felt inexplicably warmed by her voice.

Later, after we'd been in the car for an hour or so, Papa said in his driest voice, the one that said he was only saying this because he had to as a parent, "As much as I love you, I'm disappointed that you didn't call me. I was worried sick about you, baby."

"How long am I grounded for?" I asked, feeling as though this had been inevitable.

"Two weeks- the standard no friends, no vids, etcetera. You need to be more responsible. Amanda Grayson or no Amanda Grayson, you can't just get lost in your own world. Next time you meet one of the most famous people in the Federation, call me first to make sure I'm not trying to figure out who has spirited you away."

I thought for a moment about my day, a frisson of excitement giving me goosebumps as I thought of the fact that Amanda Grayson, _the_ Amanda Grayson had complimented me, that she said she wanted to keep in contact with me, that she had complimented my accent and encouraged me to continue with linguistics because - and I quote - 'You have a knack for it, Nyota, a knack that anyone would be desperate to snatch up'.

I decided it was _totally_ worth it.


	4. Chapter 4

Two months after I finally got my acceptance to the Starfleet Academy in San Francisco, I was sent the same thing that every student that is sent when they are going to be living in a dorm: their roommate information.

I must admit that I was a little nervous when it came to a roommate. I had five sisters, but we each had our own room. When my sisters had successfully driven me to the edge, I was always able to escape to my room to prevent myself from committing sistricide. Here, my room wouldn't be my own; it was entirely possible that if my roommate was bad enough she would drive me out of the room, forcing me to find someplace else that I considered 'mine' and could go to should all else fail.

Her name was Gaila- just Gaila, actually, and though I searched around the file they'd sent me, I couldn't find any mention of her last name and was thus forced to assume that she didn't have a last name. Or perhaps she didn't have a first name; with single name cultures, it was often hard to tell, especially since Starfleet didn't make it a habit to list family information with the name of the student. Of course, a quick search in the database could probably tell you all you would ever want to know, but at least this way Starfleet couldn't be blamed for revealing too much personal information.

In fact, the information was very brief indeed. I was given my roommate's name (Gaila), her current location (Rome, Italy), her species (Orion) and her comm address (Gaila1257).

I frowned for a moment at the third piece of information, wracking my brain to figure out if I'd slipped up somewhere. Orion wasn't a part of the Federation, that I knew, largely due to the fact that one of the requirements for entrance into the Federation was for all the members of its species to be free; the Orion Syndicate was just one of many things that prevented Orions from being able to join the Federation. However, much like the black slaves in the pre-Civil War south of the United States of America could gain their freedom by getting to the north, if a member of a species not in the Federation could _get_ to the Federation, they would be granted amnesty and protection. Well, it wasn't quite that simple. First they had to prove that they had been abused by their natural species or otherwise been given cause to have to escape from their planet. There were several things that the Federation could do, one of which was giving the individual the option to register as a personal entity, thereby granting them the same rights as any other Federation citizen. They weren't given complete free reign, of course. For example, they were forbidden from participating in the politics of any planets in the Federation, amongst other things. However, they were able to vote on all Federation matters and laws.

I bit my lip, frowning a little at the screen. I couldn't help but wonder what had driven Gaila from her fellow Orions. It was common knowledge that the Orion Syndicate dealt in slaves, drugs, weaponry, and that their women were used as 'consorts' and 'entertainment', which I suspected was little more than a kind euphemism for 'prostitute' as well as other, less savory names, and I doubted they were being directly paid for their efforts.

I tossed my PADD on top of my bed, absently twirling my hair around my finger. I wasn't sure where to begin. I should send an email to her comm of course, but given what I knew I wasn't sure what to say. I didn't want to directly say, "Hey, I know that somehow you must have gotten out of the Orion system, and since you're female, you were probably a whore."

Yeah, right. That would go over _real_ well.

My PADD rang then, and I scrambled for it, sending it skittering to the floor. "Dammit, dammit!" I cursed under my breath. I could just feel it, and I stretched a little further, managing to grip and it and pull it out from under my bed.

"Hello?" I said, panting a little.

"Nyota Uhura?" said a voice from the other side, and I pulled up my video.

"Yes, I'm Nyota Uhura," I said, gently correcting the woman's pronunciation. My name was unusual enough that I'd done it probably two or three dozen times before, and I'd gotten used to it. The woman's voice was accented in a way I hadn't heard before, a slight softening of her vowels, making them beautifully round. As my video feed popped up, a green-skinned, red-haired woman popped up, and my eyebrows rose.

"Hi," she said nervously, waving a little. "Um, you do have your vid up? Well, I mean, assuming you have vid. Sorry, I'm a little nervous- I'm rambling. I'm Gaila, your roommate. For Starfleet, at the Academy, I mean. Yes." A pretty blush rose in Gaila's cheeks, and even I would have been willing to admit she was pretty much drop-dead gorgeous. Her blush brought out some reddish-purple tones in her skin, and it complimented her brilliant, curly red hair, of which I was instantly jealous.

"Oh, hey, yes. It's nice to meet you, Gaila! I'm sorry I didn't contact you earlier. I just got the message on my PADD. How are you?" I answered with a smile, hoping to put her at ease. I think it worked, since she grinned back, and there was nothing tentative at all about the look.

"I didn't get it too long ago myself. I just wanted to make sure that I wasn't calling you at three in the morning or something, since I didn't think you'd like that very much. And I'm fine, thanks. You?"

I laughed, admittedly a little nervously myself. Since I was going to be spending at least one year with this girl, if not more, I wanted her to like me, and I wanted to like her, if only so that we'd get off to a good start, whatever happened later in the term. I'd never shared a room before, and the Academy was going to be difficult enough without worrying about roommate troubles on top of it. "I'm pretty good, thanks. Um..." I giggled a little nervously, and clapped my hand over my mouth. I thought for a second or two, and then decided that honesty was probably the best policy, and she was probably feeling the same was as I was. "Sorry. I'm nervous, I want to make a good impression, so that we don't kill each other within the first week."

Gaila laughed again. "I feel the same way." She cleared her throat a little, and looked off to the side. "I have to admit that I've been living in Rome for three years, and I have run off a roommate." That blush rose again, and I couldn't find it in me to be angry for the moment. "In my defense, we were not...compatible. Irreconcilable lifestyle differences. All my other roommates have stuck around though, if that counts for anything."

I grinned a little. "Well, the fact that you've mentioned it right off the bat is probably a step in the right direction. Thanks for giving me the heads up. I've never had a roommate at all- I still live in my parent's house, and I've always had my own room. If you don't mind, may I ask what the lifestyle issues were? It might help the adjustment."

Gaila cleared her throat awkwardly. "Well, I like sex. I like it a lot, and I like having it a lot. And after three years of being on Earth, I've come to realize that the human species is surprisingly repressed and most don't like it when I have sex, especially not often and with as many people as are interested. I've found it's best to clear the air at the beginning, before letting someone move in. I realized that with my first roommate. The people who stick around after hearing that are usually considerably more interesting too."

I blinked, taken aback at her bluntness, then shook my head, trying to look at the reality of the situation and think of something that would please us both. "Well...um, that's really your business. It's your life, live it how you choose, and I won't get involved. And as much as I wish that was the end of the story, it's really not." I winced a little. I had always had a fairly philosophical view towards sex, and Gaila's preferences truly didn't bother me, especially since one of my best friends was poly, but that didn't mean that I wanted to personally be involved in anyone's sex life but my own. I continued, "I think that it's not as simple as that, especially since we'll be living in the same room, without a way to separate our beds or anything. The rooms aren't all that big either, to my understanding. I think that as long as we set up some base rules, though, we'll be good to go."

Gaila nodded. "That's fair," she said slowly, looking thoughtful. "Anything specific?"

"Well, I mean, I'm not comfortable with you having sex in my bed. Or while I'm in the room, for that matter. I don't have a voyeurism kink, so thanks but no thanks. If you are having sex, and there's a chance that I might be coming back to the room, hang a sock or something on the door. I'll give you the benefit of the doubt for now, but if I start getting sexiled, I can assure you I'll be putting my foot down. That room is for both of us, and I can't be worried about walking in on you every time I forget something. Other than that though...your life it your life. It you want to have an orgy, short of having the room trashed when I come back and my bed sheets stained with the unmentionable liquids, I don't really care. Fair enough?" I hoped I had managed to cover all my bases, but I figured that if need be, I could discuss more details as issues popped up. And if nothing happened that required a discussion with Gaila, then I wouldn't worry about trying to cover them now.

Gaila smiled broadly. "That all sounds fine," she agreed. "It's the same general rules of my apartment now." She tilted her head. "You really are an odd species when it comes to sex, though I've really stopped trying to understand it when it comes to you people." She smiled, and it was clear that she meant no offense; she was merely a blunt woman by nature. "You seem to be nicer than most."

"Thanks...I think," I said, not entirely sure as how to respond. I figured we'd covered as much as we dared for our very first conversation, especially considering we'd managed to address it within the first fifteen minutes of the conversation. "Um, with that covered, I guess that we should start on the other basic questions. You know, favorite color, birthday, and so on."

"Sounds good!" Gaila agreed cheerfully.

We spent the next half hour or so covering all the basic information, and I started to feel pretty good about rooming with Gaila the coming term. She seemed like a cheerful, intelligent and pleasant individual, considering that I'd only spoken to her for less than an hour. She was almost painfully blunt at times, and a little too whimsical for my more practical tastes, but I had high hopes. She seemed like someone that I'd not only be able to tolerate living with, but genuinely become friends with.

"You know, we really ought to meet in person," Gaila enthused, white teeth flashing in a broad smile. "Come on, have you ever been to Rome? I'm so glad that I ended up here. It's a beautiful place! Though I think I can scrape enough money together to come down to the United States of Africa if you really want."

"Uh," I started, stumped. "I'd have to see what my parents have to say about it."

Gaila shrugged. "That's fair." Something rang off screen, and Gaila turned away. "Oh, sorry, I have to get that. Do you mind if we talk a little later?"

"Sure, that's not a problem," I agreed. "I should be around most of the evening, if you want to call later."

"Alright, thanks," Gaila said with another bright smile. "And don't forget to see if we can get together at some point before we actually move in. It'll be nice to get to know each other without everything else that will be going on at the Academy."

"Yeah, that can probably be arranged," I agreed, warming up to the idea the more that I thought about. Though once upon a time a flight to Rome would have been a couple hundred dollars in and of itself, on top of staying in the city, now it was a comparatively short and cheap flight; after all, when they had flights to as far off as Iziria VI, which meant a full month of travel, traveling on the planet itself was simple. I could probably get round trip tickets for fifty or sixty credits, and if I was going to visit Gaila, I could probably stay with her. Meals for two or three days, especially if we stuck to local eateries instead of going all out, wouldn't be all that expensive either.

And I _had_ always wanted to see Rome...

It took a month for me to convince my parents to let me go. It wasn't the money that was the issue; my parents had set aside money for college for all their children, and since Starfleet was, to an extent, a military organization, it was considerably cheaper than going elsewhere. As usual, my problem was convincing them that I was old enough and mature enough to handle traveling so far on my own. It wasn't until, in a pique of frustration, I'd shouted, "If you can't trust me to go to Rome by myself for a few days, how can you trust me to go to Starfleet for five years of Communications training and then a minimum of a five year commission?!"

There wasn't anything they could say to that, and so off I'd flown, six weeks before I needed to be at the Academy. The entire flight, I practiced the few Orion phrases I felt comfortable enough to say to Gaila: _Ivil tir gamar sa._ Nice to meet you. _Demal ip ora Nyota_. My name is Nyota. _O'panirav oran sa?_ How are you? I knew a few other phrases as well, but I wasn't confident on my accent, and had no interest in offending Gaila, even accidentally. We'd had several conversations in the last few months, and we were getting along well enough, but even I knew that there was a big difference between getting along on a vid chat once or twice a week, more than five thousand kilometers apart, and living together for even a few days.

Gaila had work, but would get out an hour or so after my flight landed, so my plan was just to take a hovercar to her flat; we'd meet for lunch at 1:30 at the small café across the street, and then I could take a nap to help me adjust to the time change. Since I was only staying for three days, I hadn't bothered to pack more than a carry on with clothing and my toiletries, along with my PADD.

When I was dropped off at the apartment, I checked my watch, smiling when I saw I was right on time. I'd worried that the fact that my flight got in at 11 would mean I would get to Gaila's flat too early, but she'd assured me that I'd get there right on time. She'd described Rome as many things, but speedy and organized it was not. By the time I'd gotten all of my stuff together, found a taxi to take me to Gaila's flat and actually got there through all the traffic, it was five minutes to the time we were supposed to meet. As I thanked the driver, paid him, and got my stuff out of the hovercar, I spotted the café across the narrow cobblestone street, which the Roman people flatly refused to have replaced.

I shouldered my bag and crossed the street to the café, peering through the window for a few seconds to see if Gaila was already present. I caught a glimpse of brilliant red hair, practically glowing against darker green skin, and I let out a little sigh of relief. It was all well and good to plan to meet someone, but until you actually see them, there's always that niggling little fear that something will go horribly wrong and next thing you know, you'll end up lost in a new city without your luggage, identification, or cash.

However, there couldn't be that many Orions on Earth, so it was with a warm, if a little anxious, smile on my face that I entered the small café, stepping up behind Gaila. " _Ivil tir gamar sa_." I said cheerfully. My accent was flawless, the syrupy sounds of the Orion language flowing off my tongue. I was rather pleased with my efforts.

Gaila, it seemed, was not.

The minute the words came out of my mouth, Gaila flinched into the table, shoving it back. The glasses on the table fell to the floor, shattering, and she let out a little gasp of pain as she twisted, falling out of the chair and landing on the floor, leg twisted awkwardly under her skirt, elbows underneath her to support her weight.

"Oh no!" I cried, rushing forward. The woman scrambled away from my touch, and I was left wondering, my hand outstretched and confused expression, tilting my head and wondering exactly where I'd gone wrong. There was a moment of horrified mortification where I wondered if somehow I'd managed to mistake this woman for Gaila.

Then she turned, and I saw that it was in fact Gaila. Her expression was torn between fear and surprise. "Nyota?" she asked, voice squeaking a little at the end.

"Excuse me," said the waitress in lightly accented Standard, hurrying over and breaking the shocked silence that had fallen over the café, "Please, allow me to clean this up. I would not wish for you to get hurt on the broken glass."

"I'm sorry!" Gaila exclaimed, hurrying to stand and get out of the waitress's way. There was ten minutes of hurried cleaning and frantic apologies, as everyone tried to help and simultaneously stay out of the employee's ways. I tried, in addition to apologizing to the café workers, apologizing to Gaila for startling her in the first place. Finally, we escaped the café, blushing brilliant red to our roots, took one look at each other and just laughed, helplessly, until we were clinging to the wall in an effort to stay up.

"Come on, I think I've got a little food at my place. I think we'll be better off if we don't try to terrorize any unsuspecting restaurants for another couple of hours. My roommate won't be back for another couple of hours, so we'll have some peace and quiet" Gaila took a hold of my bag with ease, despite my protests, and lead me up to her second floor flat, keying in her security code.

"How about some water?" she asked, and I agreed. I watched as she puttered around the tiny kitchen, collecting two glasses, some ice, and pouring some water into the glasses. As she handed mine to me, she smiled a little self-consciously and said, "That probably wasn't one of the better first impressions I've made."

"No, no!" I hastened to explain, gesturing expansively. "It was my fault, for startling you. There was no way you couldn't have known it was me, since I used Orion, and you didn't know that I'd learned a little. I'd hoped to surprise you." My face fell, and I knew I looked rueful and apologetic. "I just didn't surprise you in the way that I meant to surprise you." I bit my lip a little. "If I offended you, I'm sorry. It wasn't my intention."

Gaila's face went carefully blank. "It wasn't...it didn't offend me. I just...Orion is..." she blew out a breath of air, frustrated, and ran a hand through her red curls, tousling them further. "I don't have the best memories of that place. I didn't have the best life there. A lot of stuff that is the norm there would be considered extreme abuse elsewhere. When I heard the Orion...I was just taken back there for a moment, especially since I couldn't see your face."

I stared at her, aghast. Triggers, PTSD- it's the sort of thing you hear about in schools, perhaps, or a case of the proverbial 'friend of a friend'. But to hear that someone I knew personally had suffered so frightful a childhood and young adulthood that she was marked by it to this day...it was unimaginable, completely beyond the scope of my experience.

I had no idea what to say.

"I'm sorry, Gaila. I..." I hesitated for a moment and then said, meeting her eyes, " _Tral ip tir sa_." My regrets to you.

Gaila's face softened, returning with the traditional response. " _Iwa tralli sanma op bittranigla ptah o'Aetheir_." May our regrets be carried by the Aetheir. I smiled a little, and then Gaila winked, acting as thought the previous subject had never been discussed. I let her change the subject, because it was none of my business, and maybe one day she'd be able to let me in, to help her in any way that I could. I could sense there was a story there. I knew nothing about what Gaila had faced, but she was already amongst one of the bravest women I knew. "I'll have to work on that accent of yours though. It's terrible!" the green-skinned woman teased, propping a hand on her hip, absently swirling her glass in the other hand.

"It's not that bad!" I objected, frowning a little. "Is it?"

Gaila just laughed at me, and dragged me into the kitchen to help her make lunch.


	5. Chapter 5

When I stepped off the shuttle, I looked around and saw nothing much beyond the shipyard and grassland in the far distance. I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck in an effort to loosen some of the knots that had taken up residence there. Iowa was not exactly the most interesting of places to have a layover, in my opinion, and the only interesting thing about Riverside, Iowa, was the fact that the Riverside shipyard and the _Enterprise_ had been moved here in honor of George Kirk. They also used it as a place for layovers, for flights to the Academy, though it certainly wasn't the only place- I'd had a layover in Morocco as well, though that had only been a four hour layover, instead of my current seventeen hour layover.

My stomach growled, and I sighed, lifting my bag onto my shoulder. The rest of my things were being shipped to the Academy, but I had some spare clothing and toiletries that would keep me until the rest of my stuff arrived in San Francisco. I made my way across the shuttle platform and out of the docking port, before exiting the shipyard entirely. I'd made reservations at the local bed and breakfast, since the final flight wouldn't be leaving until noon the following day.

It was evening, and I followed the masses of workers leaving the shipyard as well back to the town. It was no more than a fifteen or twenty minute walk, just as I'd been assured, though I had to bring up the appropriate map on my PADD to get through the actual town of Riverside and to the Riverside Bed and Breakfast. Not the most original name, I know, but my main concern was just having a bed for the night, no matter how lumpy it ended up being.

I didn't exactly have high hopes for Riverside.

I checked in with the owner and put all my stuff in the room; they even had an older style of swipe key access to get into the house and all of the rooms. There was a sad little proprietress that let me into my sad little room, complete with dingy little window. The entire house seemed sad, actually, and I itched to get out of there. I thanked the woman and left, mindful of her warning that after ten I would need my swipe card in order to get in again. It was on the tip of my tongue to ask where she recommended that I go eat, but I couldn't quite manage to do it. I wanted nothing more than to get out of her terribly tired presence. It made the hair on the back of my neck rise, and I somehow felt that I was abandoning her to a horrible fate simply by leaving the bed and breakfast to get some dinner.

I shrugged off the feeling. I only took my identification, my key and my credit chip out of my bag, careful to keep them in an inner pocket of my pants so that nothing would happen to them. There was nothing much to see in Riverside. There was a main road, with some restaurants and a few bars, the stores having long since closed. There were a few eateries off the beaten path, but I didn't feel entirely comfortable leaving the main road. There was something about me, maybe my dark skin, maybe my attitude, maybe my smile- hell, maybe all three- that just didn't fit in with the rest of the true Riverside crowd. There were a couple of Starfleet personnel, as evidenced by the uniform, and there were a couple of bars that had cheerful and excited music, but as a general rule it seemed as though that most of the people that lived here had been born and raised here and would be buried here simply wanted to go back to their homes and sleep until the next workday. There was a sense of monotony that covered the town, and I felt my skin begin to crawl again.

It was a sad, tired place in a lot of ways, as sad as the cramped little room and frail little proprietress.

I picked a restaurant largely at random. Business seemed to be winding down as I stepped in, the hostess indicating that I was free to sit anywhere. I glanced around. There was a group of boisterous male and female patrons by the bar, and a few quiet couples that were finishing their plates, enjoying a quiet conversation.

I grabbed a small table for two, and a gum-chewing waitress came over with a menu. "Hey, welcome to Sally J's," she purred, looking me up and down with a smile on her face. "I'd bet my paycheck from tonight that you're headed over to Starfleet."

I looked at her, surprised. "Yeah, how did you know?"

"'Fleeters always got a certain look about them, ya know? Can't wait to get out of our little town."

"Oh," I said belatedly, wondering if she was offended. "I'm sorry, I know that it's probably a perfectly nice town-"

"Hun, don't you worry your pretty little head. If it weren't for the shipyard, we'da died out here long ago. Ain't nothin here but farmland and Starfleet these days. Not the most exciting. We've got our fun." She watched me carefully for a few seconds before giving an approving nod, as if I'd passed some sort of test. "Mayhaps you'll let me show you some fun here?" She winked at me, but she didn't put a particular emphasis on it. Her suggestion was completely casual, made without strings attached.

I was taken back a moment at the offer, but shrugged mentally. I couldn't find it in me to be offended, forward- and fairly unprofessional, admittedly- though it may have been. I took a second look at her, taking in the sweet curves and long curly black hair that framed a heart-shaped face, and began smiling a little. "Sorry, no," I said with real regret. She looked sweet enough, and there was something genuinely appealing about her smile. It was the sort of smile that made people want to do whatever she said, no matter how crazy, but she was good natured enough not to take advantage of that fact. "I'm beat from traveling, and I have to get up early in the morning. Maybe next time I'm around?"

"Whatever you want, sugar. Just give a shout for BJ when you wanna order, alright?" She grinned at me again, clearly having taken no offense. "And if you change your mind, give a shout about that too."

I laughed. In a single moment, I'd become oddly warmed from my earlier despondent mood. Maybe Riverside wasn't so bad.

Or so I thought until the patrons I'd spotted earlier at the bar decided to take notice of my presence.

"Sweetcheeks!" One of the boys called as he walked over. He slid into the seat across from me without so much as asking if I wanted the company.

That was strike one.

"Baby, you must be a broom, because you just swept my off my feet," he cooed, fluttering his lashes as though that would make him more attractive.

Strike two.

When I didn't say so much as a word in response to his particularly horrific pickup line, he continued, "Now baby doll, don't freeze me out. Surely a sweet little piece of chocolate like you would love to get to know me better. I'm a charming gentleman, by all accounts." He leaned forward, trying to get a hold on me.

Strike thr-

"Gregory Samson, I _know_ you aren't hitting on that poor woman in bad taste. Because if you were, little Greggy, that would mean I would have to give your parole officer a heads up as to how badly you're behaving, despite promising to keep out of trouble. Getting drunk off your ass is not the most auspicious start, my buck, and you _know_ that I will tell him. You and your fellow miscreants don't cause me one lick of fear, because I can take on any one of you troublemakers with one hand tied behind my back."

Whatever Gregory Samson was looking at over my shoulders made him turn an ashen white. "Miss Jackson!" he stuttered.

A woman appeared at my side, hand propped on one hip, skirt swishing around her loudly in the sudden silence. She had the most incredible white blond hair I'd ever seen, piled up in a messy bun on the top of her head and pinned in place. Loose curls hanging down around her face should have made her look disheveled or frazzled, but she only looked perfectly in control of both herself and the situation, and she pinned the boy sitting opposite me with a single look. She had the most brilliant blue-green eyes I'd ever seen, and there was a dusting of freckles across her skin. "Now, now, Greggy," she said, those eyes sharpening. "I might be unmarried at the moment, but I'm no miss, and I haven't been for over thirty years. I'll make you a deal. You and your little friends get out of here and get back to your house and stop disturbing the town, and I won't say a single word about you hitting on some unsuspecting young woman who..." the woman took another look at me, and raised a brow, a calculating look growing on her face. "Who could probably kick your ass seven ways to Sunday, to be honest. I bet if I hadn't said a word, she'd have laid into you good and proper."

There was a moment of silence before Gregory said, in a sheepish voice, "Can I go now, ma'am?"

"Apologize to Miss..." she looked at me, questioning.

"Uhura," I supplied.

"Miss Uhura, right. Then you can be on your way."

When Gregory and his friends were gone, the woman slid into the chair across from me. "Sorry about that. They view incoming women as fresh meat, and sometimes I've got to come around and disillusion them. Sally J!" she shouted, turning towards the bar. "I know you're back there, grinning at me and shaking your head. Bring me out something good. I'm starving!"

A red haired woman poked her head out from behind the bar, and sure enough there was a broad grin stretched across her face. "You got it, Winona. I ought to have you on the payroll as a bouncer, for as often as you kick those boys outta here."

"You could do it yourself. You just don't want to do it to your niece, Sally J, let's be honest. I don't blame you. I could never do it to my Jimmy either, and heaven knows the boy needs a good whack across the rear. Men," she said with a sigh, shaking her head sadly. "Can't live with them, can't find a good place to bury the body."

I just shook my head, dissolving into laughter. "There are just some idiots that are like that."

The woman- Winona- nodded her agreement. "Sorry about that. It's not the sort of impression you should get from Riverside. It's just that we're so small a town that everyone knows exactly who the bad seeds are, and they're always related to someone you know, if they aren't related to you."

"My village was like that too," I shared. "Thanks for earlier. I'm Nyota Uhura. Just call me Nyota."

"No problem. You looked like you could have handled it yourself though. I just sped things along. These boys won't listen to you until you browbeat them, and to do that it's pretty much necessary to have known them their whole life. The Samson boy- well, he might have run because I threatened to call his parole officer, but what he was afraid of is me letting his Ma know. Mrs. Samson's a spitfire, and not one you cross willfully." She grinned, and though it was bright, it was just a little sad. "You can just call me Winona."

"Nice to meet you, Winona," I greeted dutifully.

"And you, Nyota. Did I say that right?" At my nod, Winona smiled again.

Sally J took that moment to put the plates down in front of us. "On the house, you two." We both started to protest, but in a move of absolute immaturity, Sally J put her hands over her ears and walked off, singing, "Lalalalalala!" at the top of her lungs.

Neither Winona nor I could stop our laughter at that. "Alright, alright, Sally J. Stop being so dramatic. We accept your offer of food as payment!" She called just as Sally J disappeared into the back again.

"I knew you'd see it my way!"

Winona shook her head, then looked a bit guilty. "Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to just grab a seat. If you'd like, I can sit elsewhere. I didn't mean to offend you, if I did."

She made a movement as though to leave, but I grabbed her arm. "It's not fun to eat alone," I admitted with a shy smile of my own. Winona seated herself again, looking down at her food, a slight blush crawling into her cheeks.

"I'm glad. Eating alone definitely isn't the best way to spend an evening." Winona popped a couple of fries into her mouth, then sipped at her lemonade. I dug into my sandwich, and found that the BLT with chicken that I'd ordered was one of the best I'd ever tasted. "It's good, isn't it," Winona said after a few moments, seeing my expression. "Sally J's a genius in the kitchen."

"I can tell. It's got that home-cooked taste," I agreed.

"Speaking of home, where's home for you? If you don't mind my asking."

"A little town two hours south of Nairobi. And no, you've never heard of it."

"I'm from here, in case you hadn't guessed, though I still work for Starfleet. I'm off world, doing whatever they want me to do four months of the year, and the rest of the time I help run the shipyard."

"I'm headed for San Fran and the Academy."

Winona laughed. "So I suspected. Don't take offense, but there aren't a whole lot of non-Fleeter black men or women in Riverside. Plus, it's small enough that everyone knows each other. I studied Engineering at the Academy, and paid in blood for it," she said with a crooked smile. She displayed her hands, which were covered in old burns and scars, including one from a nasty puncture wound between her first two knuckles. "I specialized in Transporter physics. What are you headed off to do?"

I looked down at my meal again, and could feel my cheeks heating. "Communications."

Winona whistled, both eyebrows rising. "After Medical, Communication is both the longest and hardest, though most people don't know it. Medical is four years for the human biology degree, and another three to five depending on exobiological specialization. Command is four flat, Engineering is anywhere between two and four depending on specialization. Security is three to four, the sciences are three to five- but Communications is five at the minimum, usually longer. It's the languages that kill people. Just to get on a ship you've got to be proficient in twenty percent of all Federation languages and able to master mystery languages with relative ease. On top of that, you've got to master the programming aspect, which most people don't think about, since Communications is responsible for sending coded messages and whatnot." Winona shook her head. "Better you than me. I never had much of a talent for languages. How many do you know? And don't be shy, the fact that you can speak more than one foreign language at all is better than what I've got."

"I know eight fluently, and I've got another five that I'm working on," I answered, and I tried not to sound too proud of myself, though I knew I had a grasp of languages that few ever had.

Winona whistled again. "Wow, very nice!"

"To each their own, right?"

"True, very true. My husband was in Science before he transferred into Command, and he could go on all day about his experiments and I wouldn't understand more than one word in three. Give me a nice, simple, warp physics equation any day." Winona brushed some of that blond hair out of her face, tucking it back up into the bun.

I snorted. "Maybe for you. I'd prefer a new language. For me, warp physics would be the foreign language."

Winona nodded and polished off her fries, then checked her watch. "Shit! It's getting pretty late. You've got a flight in the morning, and it always takes longer to get ready than you think it will. Sally J!" she called. "We're heading out!"

Somehow, I'd missed everyone cleaning up around us, and Winona and I were the only people in the restaurant. Sally J came out to kiss Winona's cheek and then mine, as though we'd been friends for years. "I'll see you again, I'm sure. Everyone from Starfleet wanders through here sooner or later, and if you've won Winona over, you've won over one of the harshest critics around here."

"Thanks," I said, abashed. The entire evening had been considerably more fun overall than I'd ever expected. "I had a good time."

"I'm glad," Winona said, slinging an arm over my shoulder. "Let me walk you back to Annie's place, alright? It's surprisingly easy to get lost around here." Or so she said, though from the glance that went between her and Sally J, I suspected that Gregory might be waiting for me. If that was the case, I wouldn't mind the extra helping hand.

We said our goodbyes- the waitress, BJ, winked at me as we left- and Winona led me back to the Riverside Bed and Breakfast. We didn't encounter any trouble, though whether it was because of Winona's presence or because Gregory Samson hadn't come around, it didn't really matter.

"Thanks for a fun evening," I said as we came up to the main steps. "And thanks for lending me a helping hand. Next time I'm around, we should grab dinner together again." I smiled at her, hoping that the smile would be enough to make her understand that I was genuine in my sentiments.

She seemed to get the picture, and her return smile was warm. "Yeah, I'd like that," she agreed softly. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Nyota. You'll do really well at Starfleet."

"Thanks!" I said, cheered. "I'm glad you think so. It was a pleasure to meet you too, Winona."

I was about to enter the bed and breakfast when Winona shouted out, "Wait!"

Startled, I turned back towards Winona, thinking that I'd somehow lost my ID or something. "Yeah?"

She bit her lip, her eyes haunted. I swear, I've never seen eyes as lost or as empty as that, and for a moment I was terrified of what had done that to Winona. I swallowed, and managed to croak out in a clearer voice, "What?"

Winona looked away, into the darkness. "Starfleet is going to test you on what you lines you will cross and how you view yourself. You'll have to do bad things to good people, and watch as Starfleet stands by, tied up politically even when you know what the right thing to do is. If you're not careful, it's going to turn you into someone that you don't like anymore. It's a hard life out there, because everything's in shades of grey." She blinked twice, quickly. "You'll lose people out there in ways you never expected, and gain them in ways that you'll regret for the rest of your life. Just...be careful."

I had to clear my throat twice to get my voice to work. "I promise."

Winona turned to leave, and an idea that had been floating around in the back of my mind all evening came to the fore. "Winona, Jackson's your maiden name, isn't it." It came out more a statement than a question.

Winona threw a smile over her shoulder, a quicksilver and exhausted expression. "Yup. I'm Winona. Winona Kirk."

~*~

Like I said, I never thought I was a wave maker or world shaker. I wasn't out there to change the world. I only wanted people to understand me like I understood them, so that I could finally make the world fit together like it was supposed to. So I took in every language I could, took it into my soul and made it my own, just to try and bridge the gap. Starfleet was supposed to be my opportunity to do that.

I wasn't like my mother, who was a mother and a strong woman in her own right, balancing her life and that of her children with ease. I wasn't like Hoshi Sato, who took the world by storm with her work in the universal translator, doing more than I ever could to make this universe's inhabitants understand each other. I wasn't like Amanda Grayson, who had a charisma and fierce intelligence that made the world her oyster, but used it to teach people instead of conquer them. I wasn't like Gaila, who had said not a single word about what she much have surely faced to get out of the Orion system, who laughed so freely, so brightly and without rancor. I wasn't like Winona Kirk, who had not only survived the Kelvin disaster, but had to all appearances _lived_ after surviving the Kelvin disaster, managing to raise two sons, even if there seemed to be some outstanding issues.

They were the wave makers and world shakers of this world, the women who will, the women who changed the world, the women that I wished so dearly that I could be, but that I wasn't.

I wasn't them.

But I _could_ be.

I looked at the woman who had asked me, "Pants or skirt?" in the eye, meeting her gaze squarely.

There was a smile on my face as I thought of the women that had changed my life.

"Skirt. Definitely."

**Author's Note:**

> A huge shout out goes to [](http://phoenix-laugh.livejournal.com/profile)[ phoenix_laugh ](http://phoenix-laugh.livejournal.com/) for her wonderful beta-ing skills, she helped make this fic the best it could be. Another thanks goes out to [](http://hollow-echos.livejournal.com/profile)[hollow_echos](http://hollow-echos.livejournal.com/) for posting this fic because I am currently away from the internet on vacation, and for the wonderful cover art for this story.


End file.
